


Aetherology and Skulking Boots

by LynMars79



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Final Fantasy XIV: A Realm Reborn, Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward, Final Fantasy XIV: Stormblood, Friendship, Gen, non-linear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 18:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14879321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LynMars79/pseuds/LynMars79
Summary: Vignettes on the friendship between two of my favorite Scions. Skips around, spoilers up through current content likely.





	1. Trustfall

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of feelings about how some of the Scions interact, and these two top the list. Not sure how much I'll write for them, but here are some random scenes of their friendship, starting with one from the end of A Realm Reborn, and using dialogue from that moment, in Y'shtola's PoV, then skipping to Heavensward patches.

Y’shtola made up her mind in an instant.

“You two go on ahead. Thancred and I will deal with this.”

It was not a question, nor a command; just logic. Like her, Thancred did not possess the Echo, and someone had to cover her for her plan to work.

He did not hesitate or question. He simply handed Minfilia the lantern, with a reassuring comment.

Only once the Chosen had fled did he ask, “What is the plan, milady? Shall I take the dozen on the left, and you the dozen on the right? The odds are not exactly stacked in our favor…”

The feigned formality was the only indication of his concern, as well as his willingness to follow whatever idea she had in mind. The rogue had more layers than many gave him credit for.

“Numbers will count for little when I bring the tunnel down upon their heads. Though I cannot say I relish the thought of being entombed with you for all eternity,” she answered.

“You wound me! I will have you know that many a maid would _kill_ for the chance to spend forever at my side! Now, may I have the last dance?” He drew his blades and prepared. No argument, no concern. Just his trademark bluffing and flirtation. It was comforting, in its way.

She knew him well enough, too, to know it was an act for her benefit. What he truly felt, she could not know. But when his brown eyes met hers, she saw only care, trust, and determination.

Her plan would likely kill them both, yet he refused to show her fear, anger, or grief.

Y’shtola began to cast her spell, focusing on the earth and water, calling to the elements surrounding them. She could hear him fighting, distant through the attention she was giving to her communion.

On the edge of her vision, she saw the arrow strike his leg, heard him call out to her, though the rush of the elementals answering her call drowned out the words.

“’Tis done!”

Could she save him?

She had to try.

Time moved in fractions of seconds.

Soldiers were screaming, their higher pitched voices cutting through the deep rumble of rock and water. Y’shtola focused on Thancred, kneeling just a few fulms away, and she invoked the quick incantation.

What had merely been childish curiosity and scholastic whimsy—all right, and a bit of showing off—now felt like the most important spell she had ever cast.

She could not stop herself from being pulled along.

_Mhitra…_

The tunnel collapsed.

************

_Moons later:_

“ _My_ appetite for the dramatic!?” His face was difficult to see through her new vision—and whatever he was wearing over part of his face—but it seemed…soft, as did his voice as he turned to her. “Have you forgotten the circumstances of our parting? The heroic last stand, the tunnel filling with light, and then…” He sighed for the effect, ever the bard. “Had I known you intended to use forbidden magicks to deliver me to some godsforsaken wilderness…

“…I would have thanked you in advance.”

“Thancred…” she smiled in return. It had been such a near thing; casting the spell at all, the inability to escape the Lifestream’s current without aid, Krile’s concern he had almost ended up in the mountainside, the obvious side effects marking them both. And yet his words, and the smile they shared, made it quite clear.

If Y’shtola asked him to do such a thing again, he would.

With a quip, and a grin, and unconditional trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot of feelings about that tunnel scene and the fallout from it, if you couldn't tell from this and "Walk in the Wilds".


	2. Infirmary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The assault on Rhalgr's Reach left us without our sharp-tongued conjurer. Post-SB stories say she went back to the Rising Stones to recover. This all came on the heels of losing another original Scion, too...

The heavy darkness of sleep released Y’shtola into the waking darkness that was her reality since the Lifestream. She almost wished she had not woken, as pain coursed through every ilm of her body, centered on her chest. She could feel the stitching, tight and itchy, the scent telling her what materials and medications had been used to supplement the multiple sessions of healing magic it would take to recover from such a wound.

For a moment, her mind flashed back to the smoke and noise of the battlefield, rushing toward Lyse and casting the protection spell, staring up at Zenos yae Galvus with her aetheric sight. He had reminded her of Nidhogg, in a way. While the wyrm’s shade had been an inferno of unending hate and rage tinged with grief, Zenos was a cold and hungry wind, contained lightning crackling along his frame, and then concentrated into shattering her shield--and her.

Y’shtola shivered. Her ears pricked at the faintest motion and a barely whispered change in breath, responses to her waking. She was not alone.

She did not need aetheric vision to tell who it was. The patient, nearly unmoving silence spoke for him. It helped, too, that his disrupted aether was instantly recognizable to her by just feeling the nearby currents, for which she did not need sight.

She licked her sleep-dry lips. “You are supposed to be in Revenant’s Toll.”

“Funny thing about that,” Thancred responded quietly. “I was taking reports, sending teams out to check on various beast tribes and crystal shipments, helping mediate disputes between Rowena and random adventurers--the usual--when we received word of the attack, and learned our dear colleague had gotten herself sliced like a fish on market day.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Not your most pleasing metaphor.”

“It is an unpleasant situation, milady,” he answered. His tone remained even and light, but relying only on the sound of his voice, Y’shtola could just barely hear how rough from worry and fatigue he was trying not to sound.

She turned her face to where she thought he might be sitting as she began to focus.

“Don’t,” he said, still quiet, but with a firmness that brooked no argument. “You need your strength. Besides, it is dark enough currently that we are almost even.”

Y’shtola sighed. “Does _everyone_ know?”

“That you are slowly killing yourself in order to see in some manner? I don’t believe so. I am certain the twins will be shocked and dismayed when they figure it out. Lyse will throw a fit. Krile will make that disappointed face she does so terribly well, and Tataru might cry--”

“Stop,” Y’shtola groaned.

“Yes, the thought of Tataru crying _is_ rather distressing.”

“You are such an arse,” she muttered.

“My lady, such language,” he feigned shock, teasing her more.

“Did you have aught to say that does not make light of this situation?” she asked.

“Forgive me; humor is how I can best cope with nearly losing yet another of my oldest, dearest friends.” His tone was gentle and honest, but the words made her wince.

“I did not exactly intend to be in this state.”

“I never said you did, and by all accounts, you should not be--not many could break your spells,” he replied. “‘Tis but a fact, and a risk we all understood when we committed the Scions to this war. That does not mean I have to like seeing you thus.

“Besides,” he continued. “I promised your sister I would see you properly escorted home, and the best way to ensure that is to do so myself.”

“What?” She lifted her head, only to be stopped by a single calloused fingertip on her forehead, pushing her back to the pillow.

“The Resistance’s resources are strained right now, and frankly, I trust our facilities in the Rising Stones more. Not to mention the distance from further chance of attack.”

“You cannot teleport and I am in no condition--” she paused. “How did you get here so quickly?” She could not have been unconscious for the length of time it would take him to cross the realm from Mor Dhona.

“Alianne teleported with me to the East Shroud, and then we rode in with an Adder unit. Now that she is attuned here, she will control the teleport back to the Toll.”

“You made her teleport you as well, when she was perfectly capable of fetching me herself?”

“No; she offered, and then Riol and Isildaure insisted, Hoary took charge of the Stones--I was, apparently, ‘quite useless’ so might as well come along. According to Ephemie and Hozan, anyway. In other words, I was ganged up on.”

She chuckled, though it hurt. After taking a shallow breath, she said. “If you say anything ridiculous like ‘I should have been here’, I _swear_ , Thancred…”

“And risk your wrath? You may be weak as a kitten _now_ , but I know you shall _not_ forget once your strength returns.” His rough fingers lightly brushed a few annoying sleep-tousled strands of hair from her face for her. “What’s done is done. I was simply concerned.”

“The passionate emotions of bards,” she muttered, feeling weary again suddenly. She did not want to fall back asleep so soon after waking, though as a healer she knew it was what she needed.

“It just seems as though there are not many of us original Circle members left,” he answered, voice a little thicker than a moment ago. “So yes, perhaps my bardic tendencies got away from me.”

“Thancred…”

“You should get more rest,” he said. “We teleport tomorrow, and that shall be taxing enough, I think.”

She reached up until her hand found his arm. She did not have the strength to squeeze, but she tried. “Thank you for coming.”

He placed his hand over hers. “Nowhere else I could be, Shtola. Now stop fighting sleep.”

“As if I need you hovering,” she tried to sound grumpy, and failed, but he chuckled regardless and set her hand down.

“If it helps, assume I linger for a chance to charm that tall blonde healer when she checks on you in the morning.”

Y’shtola tried to laugh, but sleep was winning out, and all she could manage was a smile for her friend. She would not admit aloud that she did not mind his sitting with her; there was a security in his presence and the warmth of his familiar aether, keeping the hungry cold from attempting to intrude on her dreams.

Besides, after all this time, all they had been through--especially after her Flow spell--he knew anyway, she was sure.

Y’shtola slept.


	3. Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thancred's been rescued from the Dravanian wilderness, the fires in Ishgard put out, and Vidofnir's dramatic rescue ended the threat of the True Brothers.
> 
> Morning after conversation.

Mornings in the Forgotten Knight were far more relaxed than the evenings. Y’shtola sipped her tea and allowed her vision to unfocus for a bit while she waited for Tataru to bring breakfast. It had been a long day and night, after the fires and the events at the Vault—including their dramatic conclusion. Y’shtola had slept only a few bells, ensuring the wounded were tended, before she returned to Idyllshire to continue her research on both finding Minfilia and on that metal monstrosity in the Tipped Ewer.

A door opened, and she focused just enough to see Hilda, leader of the Brume’s new Watch, leaving Cloud Nine. Y’shtola raised a brow; she was fairly certain the Mongrel did not live on the premises.

Hilda caught her watching, and waved to Y’shtola with a grin as she walked to the bar and ordered a drink to go. Gibrillont made a comment that caused Hilda to laugh—they were just too far and too quiet for Y’shtola to hear clearly—and the young half-elezen woman stretched in an exaggerated manner. The barkeep shook his head with an amused smile as he passed Hilda a warm bottle. With a final, jaunty salute to Gibrillont, Hilda departed.

The inn door opened again. Y’shtola did not need to look to know it was Thancred; his familiar, if altered, aether could never again escape her senses. He helped himself to a chair at Y’shtola’s table.

“I thought you were returning to the Rising Stones, once all was settled last night?” Y’shtola said.

“That was the plan, but it was rather late when all was said and done, and Tataru insisted I stay for breakfast.” He waved to said lalafell. She gave him a thumbs-up in response before vanishing into the kitchen once again.

“So you simply had to seduce Hilda while stuck in the city,” Y’shtola said dryly.

“I did no such thing,” Thancred said, feigning indignation. It quickly gave way to one of his smirking grins. “She seduced me.”

Y’shtola rolled her eyes.

“It’s true,” he said, affecting a pout that also swiftly vanished. “I merely meant to rectify her mistaken impression as to my age. At which point she decided to test—“

“Please, I neither need nor want details,” Y’shtola groaned. She did not have to look to know he was suppressing a laugh. “I am fully aware that your time in the wilderness did not deprive you of your charms.”

“Well, you did ask,” he pointed out, teasing gently. She rapped his fingers as he tried to sneak the creamer pitcher away from her tea service.

“Request your own,” she said.

“Gods, I forgot how grumpy you are in the mornings. Tataru needs to hurry with that breakfast.”

“I am no more or less ‘grumpy’ than usual.”

“You said it, not I,” he replied cheerily. He was in obnoxiously high spirits; it must have been a very good evening indeed. Not that Y’shtola could begrudge him such companionship, in all honesty—not after she had dropped him in the middle of nowhere for moons on end, injured and alone. For a mercy, Hilda was not the type to be under any sort of misapprehension as to Thancred’s intentions.

So best to just let him get it out of his system, so they might get back to the many tasks demanding their attention.

Tataru finally appeared with breakfast, including a carafe of strong Ul’dahn-style coffee for Thancred, causing the bard to lavish her with praises in a singsong voice that garnered the attention of nearby tables. Y’shtola shook her head.

“Mayhap we should have left you with the Vath,” she said, picking up her fork. “Breakfast would certainly be quieter.”

“And far less interesting,” he replied.

“Well I for one have missed this,” Tataru said fondly, helping herself to a chair and a scone. “The banter, I mean. It feels like it’s been forever since we all sat at a meal together.”

“It has been some time,” Thancred replied. “But we shall be together again. You found me, after all.”

Y’shtola’s ear flicked. There was an undercurrent in his tone she was not sure Tataru caught.

“Well, Riol’s certain he knows where F’lhaminn, Hoary, and Coultenet are; it’s just a matter of getting back word, now,” Tataru continued. “Aergmhus and Bluomwyda were working on finding Yda and Papalymo, which leaves…”

“Minfilia,” Thancred said. “I still don’t understand; she had left with the one person in all the realm who could—“

“’Twas not their choice,” Y’shtola reminded him. “The Crystal Herself called to Minfilia. What happened after that, well….Krile hopes to find out.”

“I shall do what I can to help. Even if I have to delve into the Great Library for restricted tomes,” he declared.

“Let us hold off on trips to the Great Library for now,” Y’shtola said mildly. “We’ve barely begun our research, after all.”

Thancred scowled. “We must do whatever it takes to find her,” he said shortly.

Tataru looked taken aback by what seemed, to her, an abrupt change in tone. She looked at Y’shtola, who continued calmly sipping her tea.

“One day at a time,” Y’shtola finally said. She felt, more than saw, him frown. “As Minfilia herself oft said. We have difficulties aplenty—but friends and resources to surmount them as well.” She looked up and smiled at him. “Though it may take a little more time, I have faith we shall find her.”

“We shall find them all,” Tataru said firmly, fighting back tears.

Thancred closed his visible eye and took a deep breath. When he let it out again, he opened his eye and smiled, returning to his charming demeanor.

“Of course we will. And you are right. She would say such herself, were she already here.”

Crisis averted, for now. “Perhaps you should speak with Krile,” Y’shtola said. “She meant to head to Mor Dhona herself, after speaking to Master Matoya. Her own knowledge of the Echo and experiences with Hydaelyn’s intervention should prove insightful.”

Thancred visibly brightened at the idea. “You are certain you are just not trying to be rid of me already?” He teased.

“The thought crossed my mind,” she answered back, dryly as possible. Tataru giggled. “I shall be leaving after breakfast myself; Cid and I have much to do in Idyllshire. Alphinaud has matters here more or less in hand.”

“Well he has me to help him,” Tataru declared, finishing her tea. “We’ve got a pretty good system here.”

“I doubt it not,” Thancred replied earnestly. “Far be it from me to get underfoot. I believe I can do more from the Rising Stones, for now.” Thancred stood, his breakfast already finished; he had eaten like—well, like a man who had not had a decent meal in moons.

“And simply rest and clean up after your adventures,” Y’shtola said. “Frankly I am not sure how Hilda put up with the silver dew scent still clinging to you; it does not just repel dragons.” She wrinkled her nose.

“I missed you too, Shtola,” he said, leaning in to give her a quick peck on the cheek before dodging out of reach far swifter than she could react. “Thank you once again, Tataru, and I will be sure to give everyone back at the Rising Stones your love, of course.”

“You had better!” Tataru waved cheerily. Her attention was soon caught by another patron, and she hopped out of her chair. “Excuse me.”

“Tell Krile should she need anything from Master Matoya’s collection to simply send me word,” Y’shtola said before Thancred could step away. “I should be able to convince her to temporarily part with a few tomes.”

He nodded. “I shall prise them from the crone’s grasp myself if need be,” he said.

“That should not be--

“Whatever it takes, Y’shtola,” Thancred said, before walking toward the door.

She watched him leave with a frown, and then sighed as the door closed behind him. She could not claim surprise, really; not when she knew how much Minfilia meant to him. He would die for her, if necessary--and thanks to Y’shtola, he very nearly had.

“One day at a time,” she whispered to herself, an image of the Antecedent’s smiling face hovering in her mind’s eye, the words echoing in her voice within Y’shtola’s head.

A greater part of her feared those memories were all they would have left of the girl, Chosen by the Mother and taken to Her side. But Y'shtola dare not voice such suspicions to Thancred, Alphinaud, or the others yet. Let them hope, let them believe.

It was the very least she could do.

Y’shtola finished her tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C'mon, is there anyone who doesn't think Thancred and Hilda hooked up at *some* point during the HW patches while the gang was still in Ishgard? Especially since Thancred was mostly still himself right up until the aftermath of the Antitower and the revelation of the Word of the Mother...
> 
> Also, whatever DID happen to the two Sea Wolves? Aergmhus was a Maelstrom officer who joined the Crystal Braves and remained loyal. Bluomwyda was an adventurer that declined joining the battle against Vishap because she felt something off about the Crystal Braves, but came around with other new recruits once we regained the Rising Stones mid-HW. They were looking for Papalymo and Yda, gave me a few possible shippy vibes between them, and then...vanished between patches. I feel like they were simply forgotten. As someone who mains a Hellsguard, I like keeping track of the Scion Roegadyns!
> 
> This one was stuck in my head awhile, and in drafts for a couple weeks.


	4. Drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for Stormblood 4.1: In the wake of the Qalyana's treachery, Thancred seems down...

“You’re troubled.”

He suppressed a wince. Damn, he had not wanted her to notice. Impossible, of course; she noticed everything. At least, it seemed, when it came to him.

“Shouldn’t I be? The infiltration was expertly done, over time and right under our noses. And now those men are…” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Like a man holding his breath against the oncoming tide.

“There has been much else to occupy our time and attention,” she reminded him. “The Qalyana took us all by surprise.”

“They should not have, is my point!” He let out a frustrated sigh and turned to face her. Y’shtola was watching him, head slightly tilted to one side, arms crossed, feet primly together. An ear flicked at his raised voice, and she arched a brow.

“We cannot predict the future, Thancred.”

“No, but we know how the enthralled work. That they managed all of this and damned near succeeded…Gods, _Lyse_ could have been—“

“She was not,” Y’shtola said. “Our friends—and Fordola—kept that from happening.”

“Damned near thing, though, according to all of them. If they had been any slower in catching the aether, or in cutting Lakshmi down…”

“It does us no good to dwell on the almosts. They succeeded, the delegates—and Raubahn and Lyse—are safe—“

“I should have been there!” He exclaimed, whirling away from her and slamming the side of his fist into the wall. The rough stone scraped his flesh, but he welcomed the stinging sensation, leaning into it to hide his trembling—from fear, self-directed anger, both?

“Yes, another target for the primal, another unprotected soul for our champions to worry about,” Y’shtola replied dryly. “And we had our hands full, besides. Or were the turned guards and their sudden Qalyana reinforcements not quite enough excitement for you?” Her tone sharpened.

“It’s not about _excitement_ ,” he snarled, turning his head to look back in her direction. “It’s…” He sighed. “Never mind.” He shoved off the wall.

“Do not walk away,” she said, the frown obvious in her voice. “Thancred, talk to me.”

He stopped, debating how to answer. How could she understand?

She sighed. He heard the soft rustle of cloth as her arms dropped to her sides, the addition of her boots on the cobblestone as she stepped closer. “You are not the only one who has wished he could stand at the Warrior of Light’s side against the primals. What Raubahn and Lyse did was out of necessity, not choice. It was still foolish of them both.”

“I know, all right, I know that, and yet…” He tried to breathe, looking up into the stark blue sky over the roofs of Ala Mhigo, wishing he could simply swim up into the light. His sorrow threatened to well up and drown him otherwise. “It was like Ifrit all over again.”

She said nothing.

“I was _occupied_ then, too, and was too late—for the friend who had to face that alone, for the Flames unit who had to be executed to a man. I knew several of them, Shtola, had met their families. I knew some of the Resistance guards we fought, too, taken by the Qalyana. I missed the traitors back then, I missed them now, and people we care about damn near paid the price.” He ran a hand over his face.

No tears. Not yet. Good.

Yet he still tasted salt.

“Arenvald is lucky,” she finally said after a long moment. “He has the benefit of a mentor in primal combat and using the Echo to defend others. That was not the case in the Bowl of Embers, not then; the technique to shield others is fairly new, and born of desperation as well as experience.” She took another step closer, and lightly rested her hand on his bare arm, above his long gloves. Her touch was smooth and cool, a balm drawing the heat of his shame away. “Thancred, listen to me. Please.”

He closed his uncovered eye and sighed, waiting.

“This is not your fault. No,” she said, staving off his protest. “The fault lies with Shanti and her fellows. They plotted, they forced Lyse’s hand, they summoned their god into the throne room. Their own choices, for which they paid the price. We but did all we had to, to protect those they had not taken. You know these things are true.”

“That does not change the number of bodies lying in the hall. With more to come, after meeting the executioner.”

“True,” she said. “But there might easily have been more. Thank the Twelve there are not; we did our duty this day, and kept all we could safe.”

“I know,” he said again. It was repetitive, but he did; she was not telling him anything he did not already know. Yet, she was not patronizing him. Her restatements cut through the haze in his mind and heart; perhaps he would not drown of it today after all. “It still feels wrong to celebrate this as a victory.”

“Then don’t,” she said. “We have much work to do to prevent such a tragedy from occurring again.”

“Work I cannot help with, lacking the necessary magical aptitude anymore.”

“Hmph. As if I would allow you to be idle, just so you might wallow.”

“I am not wallowing.”

“No. Not yet. Nor shall you, if I have my way. And I shall.” She smirked up at him, crossing her arms again.

He narrowed his eyes. “Oh, really, milady?” He matched her posture.

She smiled a little. Dammit, he had not meant to call her that—not yet—but it had slipped out as his mood improved, despite all attempts to keep himself down. He did not deserve to be smiling or bantering, not when good men were dead and he had not been there for his dearest friends yet again…

But he was _not_ ‘wallowing.’

“You can still use a pair of goggles, and hold a pen,” she explained. “A more scientific control as I go will be necessary.”

He sighed. “Oh, very well. You always did need me to check your work.”

“Only because you had to see things done properly the first time,” she retorted.

They shared a smile. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“You’re welcome. Now, shall we distract ourselves with gainful work?”

“By all means. Lead the way.”

He would not ever feel entirely right about this—they both knew that—but for now, she had lent him a raft, holding his head just above the regrets, letting him breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recently replayed 4.1, and noted after the Lakshmi battle Thancred off to the side, not talking with the other Scions, and with that familiar, depressed thoughtful look on his face. He makes a single comment if you poke him for dialogue, about being caught outside and unable to get back to the throne room in time. It struck me as a reaction similar to his guilt and regret early in ARR's MSQ, when he was pushing himself for not being "enough". I just figure this time, his friends are a bit more on top of noticing things that might trigger his depressive episodes and cause a recurrence of that self-destructive behavior that led to Lahabrea's possession.
> 
> This was written much quicker than the previous entry. I feel like I need to give Shtola some attention soon...


	5. Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tiny sorta-sequel to my own "Rogue's Prelude", many years before ARR, in the Sharlayan colony...

"I need yer help,” Thancred said, head bowed, but his crossed arms belied any sort of humility.

“Oh?” Y’shtola sniffed and closed the book she had been reading, setting it on the narrow table between them. “If this is yet another crude attempt at wooing me--”

“Ah, c’mon, Y’shtola, I didn’t mean nuthin’ by it,” he said, waving a hand. She’d stung him sharply, she knew. Honestly, if that was what passed for flirtation in La Noscea, she should be glad to never experience more of it. “And it ain’t why I’m here. I wanna ask a favor.”

She quirked a brow. “Curiosity alone compels me to listen.”

“Right, guess that’s a start,” he took in a breath, as if preparing himself for another argument. “I...was hopin’ ye could …” She watched his jaw work briefly. Clearly, the lad was not used to asking for things. “...I wanna learn to talk. Properly. Like the rest of y’ Sharlayan.”

Y’shtola’s ears flicked as she studied the hyuran youth. He was mostly keeping a neutral expression, though there was pink high on his smooth cheeks, a slight muscle twitching in his neck and jaw. “A worthy endeavor,” she replied, once she thought he had been left hanging almost long enough. “But why ask me? Why not Papalymo, or Yda?”

“Papalymo ain’t got the time fer the likes o’ me, what with his new research,” Thancred said, making a quill dance between his dexterous fingers. “And I _did_ ask Yda. She sent me t’ you.”

Y’shtola made a noise of annoyed acknowledgement. Granted, Yda didn’t know the first thing about tutoring another; she had mostly picked up her accent naturally over the last few seasons--and quite likely with some tutoring from Papalymo, who always had time for Yda, if no one else. Still…

“You’re clever with words as it is. I find it difficult to believe you could not learn on your own,” Y’shtola challenged Thancred.

He shrugged and nodded. “Oh, certainly. I can fake it if I absolutely must,” he replied, in... _passable_ imitation of Master Wyrd. The boy then sighed. “S’just mimicry, though, an’ that’s always easy. But I don’t got all the right whids, or how folks sling their phrases, and it’s easy to get the sound wrong when yer trying to get the other parts right.” He shook his head. “I’ll pick it up in time, sure, but I need to speak proper _now_.”

Y’shtola crossed her arms. “Why?” She had a fairly good idea, really, but wanted to hear it from him.

She belatedly realized that it was how Master Matoya would have questioned such a request from her. How irritating.

Thancred looked at shelves across the room rather than at Y’shtola directly. “It’ll just be...handier, to talk like everyone else.”

“So the other students do not bully you so much,” she said, lowering her already quiet voice, letting it fade into the rustling of other whispers and page-turnings in the library. Still, if one knew how to listen, and watch, one picked up on things.

Thancred almost scowled, but caught himself just before he could mar his fair features too much.

“And not just other students,” she continued as he tried not to squirm under her steady gaze. “It’s the instructors as well, is it not?”

He hesitantly nodded. “Some o’ them seem to think me...less than brilliant, just ‘cause I don’t talk as they do,” he finally admitted.

“I see,” Y’shtola replied. Unfortunately, she truly did. She knew Master Matoya had made a few prickling comments--though mostly about Master Louisoix being daft enough to drag some pirate urchin home with him--and if she were being honest, Y’shtola herself had been less than impressed on her initial meetings with Thancred, despite assurances from Yda and even Papalymo. She even knew how difficult the lalafell thaumaturge was to impress.

Perhaps it had been the terrible “poetry” Thancred had tried to use to flirt with her.

But over the last moon since his arrival, she had noted Thancred was a very intelligent boy, and a quick learner. He was good with the knives he wore, both those visible and those he kept hidden. He was patient with the younger students, keeping them entertained with games, stories, and songs--even if it did sometimes interfere with their own lessons.

When Thancred did get into trouble, he was either being far too clever for his own good--or he was receiving the worst assumptions of the faculty and far stricter censures than were perhaps necessary, in Y’shtola’s opinion. And as an upperclassman, she had plenty of those; the trick was getting some of the stricter instructors to actually heed her.

But perhaps this was the sort of thing that would do just that. If she could teach the “pirate urchin” to speak properly, it would be more difficult to dismiss him as a crude bumpkin, an idle curiosity Master Louisoix had brought home from his visit to Vylbrand. They would have to acknowledge Thancred’s talents and skills on their own merits.

That seemed far more fair to her mind.

“Very well,” Y’shtola said.

He blinked and sat up, before quickly composing himself again. “Really?”

“On the condition you take this as seriously as any formal course of study, behave yourself when we are in a tutoring session, and do as I say, when I say.”

He smiled with that easy charm of his; he was a good looking young fellow, Y’shtola could admit, and she almost understood why so many of her peers were practically swooning over him.

“I can think o’ worse things than bein’ ordered about by ye, and not too many more pleasant ones.”

She gave him a flat look, ears folded close to her head. “To begin with, there shan’t be any more attempts at flirting.”

His grin only broadened and he shrugged a shoulder. “Sure, whate’er ye say. And what d’ye want in return?”

“You can owe me for now; I’ll think of something later. _Don’t_ ,” she warned, as he opened his mouth. He snapped it closed again, his eyes twinkling in amusement.

Y’shtola sighed. She had already agreed to this, and she wasn’t about to back out immediately--she was far too stubborn for that, and what _would_ Master Matoya say?

She looked again at the youth slouching in the chair across from her, smirking in that infuriatingly charming manner of his.

It was going to be a long semester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, it's the eve of 4.5 prt 1 and I am worried about...pretty much the whole cast. This idea's been in the back of my head for a bit, so nervous writing happened.
> 
> Y'shtola's age is still an ambiguity. She's logically gotta be somewhere between Thancred and Papalymo's ages, but let's not delve too deeply into that, as it just isn't healthy.


End file.
